


Not the Mother, the Warden

by Toshi_Nama



Series: Song and Taint [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 07:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18988063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: She was existing before the Joining, before she could hear.  But that was the beginning, before we could think.  The Warden-Mother and the Dragon-Warden.Some memories are strong enough to sing through the Song.**Note: These are shorts, pieces of how Alissa and Alistair grew.





	1. The Beginning

Alissa stared at the bandits.  “I killed them.”

Alistair nodded smugly.  “Yes, we did.  Horrible folk, preying on the innocent.”

The mage shook her head.  “You don’t understand.  I  _ killed  _ them.  People.”  Surely he’d understand.  They already had things in common.  Well, not the mage bit – he’d been a Templar.  Almost been a Templar. And the whole guy/girl thing.  But they were both human, and Wardens, even if he was the only Warden she knew.  Though at this point,  _ she  _ was the only Warden  _ he  _ knew, too.  And he was funny…and cared about helping people.  Surely that was enough.

“They were bandits.  Plus, they attacked.”  Morrigan didn’t nod, but Alissa could feel her shrug.

“They were  _ PEOPLE!   _ They had lives, families!  And I  _ killed them!”   _ Was she crazy, or was everyone else?  Why couldn’t they understand?

Her fellow Warden was the one to snap back.  “So do we, and they tried to kill us first!”

Alissa bit her lip for a moment as the mabari, Alistair’s Barkspawn, whined, worried.  Unlike the frantic tone a second ago, the words came out as small as she was.  “So do  _ you. _  I’m a mage.”  Then she remembered Duncan, and even Daveth.   _ ‘We do what we must to end the Blight.’   _ With Loghain’s decisions…these would not be the only men she killed.  Even worse, who knew how many of the Templars would try come after her.  Some of them weren’t known for restraint.  She’d noticed, even if they hadn’t realized.

“Aliss…”

She shook her head.  “It’s fine, Alistair.  It was just easier when they were stinking, corrupted monsters.”  Morrigan had already moved toward the bodies, just as they had with the Darkspawn.  To see what was useable – it wasn’t like the corpses needed it any longer.

While they did that, she plopped onto the road, digging her hands into her scalp.  It messed up her braid, but that was already a disaster.

Alistair looked back, then rushed over.  “Alissa?  Are you ok?  Are you hurt…?”

She looked up…and  _ up.   _ He was even taller when she was sitting.  “I’m fine.”  He kept watching her.  She sighed.  “I’m thinking.”

“Oh.  Um…ok.  I’ll just…I’ll just go back to the…stuff.”

She was already deep into her thoughts, chewing absently on the end of her abused braid.

Magic was supposed to serve man.  That’s what she was taught, as much as some of the Enchanters and Senior Enchanters seemed bitter about it.  But she was recruited to kill Darkspawn.  To help people?  Probably, Darkspawn were pretty terrible.  But now she’d  _ killed.   _ People. __ And that was alright, because these people…weren’t serving man either?  That didn’t make sense.  What made a person, a non-mage, worth killing?  Start over.  What made a mage worth killing?  Blood magic.  Malificar.  Oh, and demons, or the Templars didn’t like you, but those could be ignored.  There weren’t many Templars out here, surely, and demons were easy to spot.  So…these were non-mage Malificarum, and therefore ok to kill.

What made a non-mage malificar?  Well, malificar were mages outside the Circles, so…maybe people with swords outside the villages?  People who used swords to control regular people, just like malificar used blood-magic.  She chewed harder on that.  And Loghain, who betrayed his oath, was just like a mage who went apostate.  That made sense.  So, people with swords who tried to force others to do what they wanted.  Wait…what would Templars be?  They controlled mages with swords.  She shook her head.   _ Those  _ thoughts were dangerous.  Either way, even Alistair, Templar-trained, didn’t mind she used magic against these bandits.  So bandits were fair game.  Besides, they were  _ stupid.   _ And so was Loghain.  Loghain’s men?  Well, she guessed it depended on whether they were controlled by him.

She sighed.  People were hard.  Well, at least she had something to start from.

“Are you guys done?  We need to go to the village, right?”

Just as she was about to step down the path, Alistair stopped them.  Again.  “Before we do…we should talk about what we need to do next.”

The other words just washed over her though she tried to make noises in the right spots.  Of  _ course  _ she wanted Morrigan’s advice, too.  Why would she ask?  On the other hand, what was the point of planning?  She’d never bothered in the Circle, and it’s not like the plans helped at Ostagar.  Besides, she knew where she wanted to go.  Kinloch.  At least  _ there  _ things should make sense, so long as Irving had gotten Knight-Commander Gregoir to calm down.

**

“Don’t expect me to give you a discount.  You can pay full price.”

Alissa shrugged.  “Fine.”  It’s not like she had the coin to buy anything, anyway.  Wait – she did have coin now; Alistair found plenty when they searched the Darkspawn in the Tower, looking for anything to explain how they got in.  He hoped for any sign Loghain’s men fell to them rather than stepped aside for them.  The Wardens found nothing.  No evidence, other than the poor caged mabari, that Loghain’s forces had even been inside the Tower of Ishal.  And then there were the Darkspawn on the way, and oh!  She’d almost forgotten about the bandits right outside the town.  She was  _ rich.   _ Well, they were.  They had something close to three sovereigns, plus a pile of random things that Morrigan was certain could be sold for some amount of coin.

The merchant and the refugees were  _ fascinating.   _ If Alissa had learned anything, it was that people were like the Templars more than she’d expected.  A smile quirked her lips.  Well, Alistair wasn’t.  Neither was Morrigan, though in a very different way.

When Alistair started looking further into Lothering, Alissa joined him.  “So what now?”

He sighed.  “We need information.  So either the Chantry or the tavern.”

That made her light up.  “I’ve never been in a tavern before.  What happens there?”

**

Alissa looked around.  Apparently what happened in a tavern was getting attacked by a bunch of soldiers and defended by…a Chantry Sister.  “Well,  _ that  _ was unexpected.  I thought there’d be alcohol.”  She’d driven off the soldiers – the Sister had asked for mercy and it’s not like the three that were left would be much of a threat – and now glanced around.  Everyone was staring.  At  _ her.   _ “Hi?”  The mage quickly shuffled through the two stories she’d read in the Circle.  “We came for some drinks and friendly companions.  You have that here, right?”

Alistair turned beet red at the words and Morrigan’s chuckle.  “Wine alone will suffice, I think.”  She was the one to pull a pouch from the closest corpse and toss it at the innkeeper.  “That should be sufficient.”  Her voice made it clear it would be.  The witch paced over to a table that became open as soon as her gaze fell on its former residents.  “Sit, and we can talk.”  Her voice grew sharper and predatory as she directed her attention on their erstwhile assistant.  “I somehow think you aided us out of more than mere charity.”

Alissa gave the other redhead a more serious look at that point, but still sat when Alistair pulled out a chair.  He blinked, then went to sit in a different one.  The only Sisters she had seen…well, Sister, was Lily.  And she’d been good with daggers, too.  “I thought using daggers was just something the Chantry taught to people.  Part of the vows, maybe.”  Alistair snorted wine through his nose.

So apparently not.  She pinned her full attention on the redhead in the Chantry robe.  “So why are you interested in us?”

The woman waited as the girl brought two bottles of wine, then poured.  “I wish to help you.  I had a vision from the Maker.”  Her voice was certain, and sweet.

Just what they needed.  A religious fanatic.  Alissa sighed.  Then again, there were just the three of them.  Right now, they needed all the help they could get.

**

They made camp after they left – Alistair found a spring, and Alissa reckoned they could use a few days to figure out their new companions.  The redhead was the easier of the two.  The giant horned statue…was harder.  But they  _ were  _ desperate.  “So, tell us about yourself.”

He answered.  “No.”

Alissa stared at him.  “But…”

The Qunari ignored her.

It was a rustle of movement that drew her attention away – a shouting voice, and the sound of something crashing through the brush.  Alistair drew his sword and the Sister…Leliana…chose to string a spare bow they’d found.  She watched as dwarves emerged with an ox-led wagon.

“Wait, aren’t you the merchant we helped?”  She continued hastily.  “The one on the road, not the nasty one in the village.”

“I am!”

Alistair spoke up.  “Didn’t you say you were going your own way, after we invited you?”

Bodhan shifted his feet.  “I changed my mind.  You’re formidable folk indeed.  I decided there was nowhere safer to be.”

When the Wardens kept staring at each other, and him, he stammered and offered a discount.  He had a point – a merchant they could trust would have to be useful.

“Alright.  What do you have?”  A merchant – with a wagon.  And they had plenty of stuff to get rid of.  Plus, that Sten wanted armor and a sword…Alissa was guessing none of the ones they had were big enough, given the way he’d sniffed at them. 

Leliana had managed to make the leather armor work, but wasn’t too pleased about wearing something from a dead man.  A frozen and shattered man, to be precise – how his armor survived, even Alissa wasn’t willing to guess.  Though she had different possibilities swirling in her head.  Maybe the shattering only worked on…she focused back to the present.

So many random things in the wagon!  Alissa poked and prodded, having never seen such an assortment.  She twinkled at the globe, shaking it to watch the flecks of white swirl.  “Alistair, look at this!  Isn’t it lovely?”

“And it’s only a sovereign.”  Bodhan saw her face.  “But…for you, your discount!  Fifty-two silvers.”

“No, Alissa.”

She sighed at him, and he almost gave in.  “The Blight?  Armies?  We need to worry about that.  The…it’ll still be here, later.  I’m sure of it.”

Alissa sighed, and put it back.  “Oh!  Here – another pack.  Look, nice and sturdy.”

Bodhan tried again.  “Seven…no, six sovereigns.  It’s big, and solid bronto leather.  Even your Qunari would have trouble slicing through it!”

She thought…but with everything they were getting rid of… “Sure.  The Quartermaster hadn’t asked for much, but we were part of the army.”  The short mage went back to digging, missing Bodhan’s eyes bugging out.

She stacked up a big ax, newish boots, and a helm she was sure would fit Leliana.  “And for this…”

Alistair broke in, desperate.  “We have the sack of stuff we were going to sell.”

The dwarf looked between them.  “Of course, of course!”  He knew he’d get another sale, soon enough.  He’d never run into people so dangerous with no idea how to barter.  He could see his retirement gleaming in their innocent eyes.


	2. After the Returning

Wynne was still at Kinloch, politicking or getting supplies.  Alissa hadn’t asked.  Sten was back at the camp with a disgruntled Morrigan and Leliana had murmured something and vanished with her bow.  Maybe she’d remember to hunt.

Kinloch hadn’t been easy.  It hadn’t even been familiar – and it wasn’t due to the Knight-Commander still being upset with her.  Uldred, an abomination of Pride?  Was it the same one who’d ‘helped’ her Harrowing?  She’d never liked the Senior Enchanter, but surely selling your soul to a demon was a bit much.

And now, everyone who came out of the Tower was quiet.  Wynne still had her apprentices, and clearly still saw Alissa as one of them.  Annoying, but it would be good to have someone with who could deal with…things.  And Alistair and Leliana hadn’t said hardly anything since she’d freed them from the Fade.  And here she was.  The Tower didn’t look much different than it did when she and Duncan left, not from the outside.  She supposed the same was true about her, though with less yuck everywhere.  And now she was alone with her thoughts, because she didn’t want to talk.  But she wanted to be alone with them and not talk about them with someone else.

A snuffle and a broken twig came from back where the camp was, then Alistair sat down next to her.  She watched as he tossed a stick for Barkspawn, then started randomly plinking pebbles into the lake below.  He stopped when she finally sighed.

“Alistair?  What’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen?”

He grunted, tossed another pebble into the lake.  “You mean, besides my attempt at stew?”  That surprised a chuckle out of her, and he beamed into the twilight. 

“You’re right.  That was pretty terrible.”

After a second, he attempted a question of his own.  “And you?  What’s the…strangest dream you’ve ever had?”

It would be too easy to mention the Fade, and besides, that wasn’t really a dream.  Neither was the one with the Archdemon and its surprisingly compelling song.  She loosened her arms from their death-grip around her knees so she could stroke her braid.  “Probably the ones I had down in Flemeth’s hut.”  She said the words slowly.  “I’d never thought I’d get swallowed by roots and have flowers growing out of my hair.”

“The flower part would be pretty.  You could wind them into your braid.”  He hurried on.  “Not so much the rest, that’s just…weird.  And creepy.”

When he leaned back on his elbows, she mirrored him.  The Tower of Kinloch was out of her sight, and she stared up at the stars that had been over her head for fourteen years.  Even if she’d never seen them until this last one. 

“It’s your turn,” he prompted.

“My turn?”  There were turns?  She thought.  “What’s the kindest thing someone’s ever done for you?”

His voice warmed with a smile he sent to the free-wheeling sparkling darkness.  “My…uncle… knew how much I wanted to be more than a stable boy.  When I was seven, he gave me a wooden practice sword for my birthday.  Even showed me a few things to do with it.”  Barkspawn came back for a scratch, then dove into the bushes chasing something that rustled.  “Squirrel, probably.” 

“Or rabbit.  Don’t they come out at night, too?”

“Rabbit, then.”  His voice turned serious.  “Liss, what’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done?”

Alissa trembled and sat up to wrap herself around her knees again.  She fought, and only a slight tremble showed in her voice.  “Walking into the Tower I grew up in, and letting them lock the door behind us.”  She buried her face in the folds of her robe, trying to hide the tears.  “I didn’t think we’d come out again, but what could I do?  Let them kill everyone?”   _ Why  _ had he done it?  It was so...ugh.  She wasn’t even sure if she was upset at Gregoir, Uldred, or Irving.

Warm hands pulled her against a warm wall…his chest, as he held her.  He didn’t try say anything stupid, or joke to break the tension.  Eventually, she gave a large sniffle, and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“Better?”  His voice tried to find a normal tone.

She nodded, and pushed herself up, ignoring the way her fingers lingered against his palm.  “I…thank you.”  The mage didn’t know how to  _ deal  _ with this, with people…easier to pretend it hadn’t happened, just like he did with his grieving for Duncan.  “We should get back, though.  I’m sure Barkspawn wants his dinner.”  Her stomach rumbled.  “Fizzling mis…when will I stop being so hungry?”

He chuckled.  “It’s all the fresh air…and the Taint, of course.”  He lumbered to his feet.  “Come on, if we hurry, there may even be enough for seconds.”


	3. Blush

It was her turn to collect water – and the stream was, of course, downhill.  “This should…count…twice.  My…legs…are shorter.”  Alissa muttered to herself as she drug the full pots back up the slight rise.  A shadow…not a tree.  Alistair.  Wasn’t he on fire duty?

“So all this time we’ve spent together…you know: the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us…will you miss it once it’s over?” 

Alissa blinked.  Who could miss that?  It was easier now that she had Wonder with her, and Wynne wasn’t the only one who could stitch them back together, but still.  It  _ hurt.   _ And the Darkspawn…she suppressed a shiver.  Even after so long, dealing with them hadn’t gotten much better.  They were still mindless and still  _ stank.  _

She stopped before she answered.  His voice was soft and had that husky edge that had been growing for the last few months.  This  _ mattered  _ to him.  Which meant…he wasn’t talking about what he was talking about.  “Miss what?  The constant battles?  Or you?” 

She’d meant it as the collective, the strange motley group that had become…friends?  Something more than travelling companions.  From the glow in his eyes, he heard it differently.  Maybe…maybe she had meant it like that.

He smiled.  She liked his smiles.  “I know it…might sound strange, considering we haven’t known each other for very long, but I’ve come to…care for you.  A great deal.”

What was he trying to say now?

The words dripped more slowly and he held her eyes…as tightly as she held the heavy, water-filled pots.  Yes, like that.  “I think maybe it’s because we’ve gone through so much together, I don’t know.  Or maybe I’m imagining it.  Maybe I’m fooling myself.  Am I?”  He looked so vulnerable.  “Fooling myself?  Or do you think you might ever…feel the same way about me?”

She knew she was getting a line between her eyebrows.  And worst of all, she couldn’t grab her braid, because she was still holding the pots.  And if she dropped them, she’d have to fill them again, which would be miserable.  She liked him, of course.  And the way he’d smile from the corner of his eyes…or how he’d put his arm around her and held her.  Something she’d never known.  Care?  Is that what it was?  Alissa retreated to the safe answer.  “I don’t know.”  He still looked at her _ …something more, something more… _ “It’s too soon to say.”

Alistair’s voice dropped lower as he took another soft step forward.  “Well, is it…too soon for this?”

Too soon for…Alissa started to ask when suddenly his hands were cupping her face, and his lips pressed against hers.  Soft.  She tried to close her mouth, but the sensation..and that just led to more.  It was nice.  More than nice.  It was…over, as he stepped back.

She rewound the words, but it was hard.  Especially with him looking at her like  _ that.   _ Whatever that was.   _ Answer him!   _ Again, she retreated to the ‘safe’ answer.  “I don’t know.  I…need more testing, to be sure.”

A look of wonder and satisfaction bloomed in his eyes.  They were so warm, even if their camp wasn’t.  “Well, I’ll have to arrange that, then, won’t I?”  He sighed. “Maker’s breath, but you’re beautiful.  I am a lucky man.”

Alissa blushed.

For some reason, that broke the…whatever.  Alistair cleared his throat.  “Now, let’s get back to…what we were up to before.  Lest I forget why we’re here.”

She looked at him.  Then looked at the arms that were about to fall out of her sockets.  “I was trying to drag these uphill.”  And finally, her fingers started to slip.  Alistair dove and caught the pots before too much had spilled out.

“Here, let me.”  He gave her another smile – and this one made her belly flutter as much as his lips had just a moment ago.

Maybe there  _ was  _ something good about the Blight.  It had brought them together.  Even if she wasn’t sure what that meant anymore.


	4. The Dragon-Warden's Song

They giggled as he helped her stagger up to the rooms they’d been given.  Everyone!  His heart sang.  They’d saved everyone in Redcliffe, from the hordes of monsters…and Liss had even found a way to save Eamon’s family and drive out the demon!  Even Isolde had said something nice – it was funny watching her teeth get in the way.

“Why do the stairs move now?  We’re not in the Fade!”

“Ssshhh, Lissssss…” just to hear her giggle again.  This time, she giggled hard enough she almost fell back down the stairs.  He caught her – caught his balance.  “Saved the day again!”  A giggling woman in his arms when he was also not precisely sober was more of a challenge than he’d expected.  He gave a huge sigh of relief when he managed the last of the stairs.

She wiggled harder.  “Put me down!  I’m a hero, too, right?”

He set her on her feet, fell in an elaborate bow.  “Of course!  I prostrate myself before you!  I serve at your whim!”

She tried to put on a severe face.  “Do you, now?  And how?”

“Name the challenge!  I already danced, what more could you ask?”  He’d remembered, and in the warm haze from two or three too many glasses of wine, had fashioned a skirt out of Teagan’s cape, and convinced him to join in the remigold.

She grabbed his hand, and tugged, pulling him to…her room?  No, his.  The dog wasn’t here, and it was covered in shirts.  She stopped, wide-eyed.

“I can clean it up!”  He slipped past her body, wavering even in frozen shock, and tried to collect everything.  His things, mended; some spares of Teagan’s that he’d grown out of, tossed all around as he’d tried everything on, excited for something with color, something clean.  He could  _ hear  _ her smirking.  “It’s harder when there are two of everything!”

“I can help?  I am a mage, after all…”

_ “NO!”  _  He whipped around, suddenly a lot closer to sober.  “No, they’re herding nicely now.  Besides, I never found the half of my pants that skittered into Lake Calenhad.”

“You weren’t willing to swim after them!  It was a pant leg, Alistair.”

“And pants aren’t supposed to swim.  Even I know that one.  You need to stop trading spells with that witch.”

She gave him a raspberry, but let him pick her up and put her on the clean spot in the room – the bed.  “Is there anything to eat?  I shouldn’t be, but I’m still starving.”

“Warden luck, remember?”  He pulled out a chunk of the sharp cheddar he’d found while they were…helping save Connor.  “Always hungry.”  He concentrated fiercely on cutting smaller chunks of the cheese, not his fingers.  “I even have another bottle of something up here, Teagan wanted to hide it from Oghren.  Something good, maybe?”  He squinted at the label, but couldn’t make the words come out.  “Here – you do it.”  He tossed it to her while he dropped the cheese onto a shirt.

She drank out of the bottle, eyes sparkling beneath the shock of coal-black hair – he’d still not gotten used to the disguise, even though she’d had it longer than her own red by this point.  She meandered back to his earlier grand gesture.  “So – you said you’d do anything.”

“Of course!  You deserve it.  Didn’t I find those purple flowers from the river?”

She grinned, and his heart lifted to see that simple happiness on her face, the dimples that never showed otherwise.  He leaned over to kiss her, but landed on the bed instead.

“What’s the strangest thing you’d do for me?”

“Hey!  If we’re playing this, I get to ask, too!”

She pretended to think, then grabbed a bite of cheese.  “Ok.  You can, too.”

“Strangest thing?  Wait, you don’t think trying to convince an elf to be nice to a naked green lady counted?”

She snorted.  “Fine.”

He thought.  “Alright.  What’s the wickedest thing you’d do for me.”  He took the bottle, drank and gave an exaggerated leer at her, just to hear her giggle again.

“Well, there was something one of the mages had said about mixing ice and….”

He could feel his ears turning red.  “That’s good, that’s good!  I believe you, wicked it is.”  He made a mental note for sometime more sober.  “Your turn.”  The cheese was wonderful, hard and just a bit crumbly, a nice bite that the wine helped make more.

“What’s the…grossest thing you would do for me?”

He stuck his tongue out at her, and she responded with the same.  “Fine.  I’d kiss Morrigan.”

“She’s not gross.”

“She’s a witch, and she’s nasty, and she turns into a spider.  That’s gross enough.”  His lovely Rose liked the swamp witch for some reason.  He couldn’t figure it out, the cold woman reminded him of Isolde.  At least her voice wasn’t as grating, but still.  Isolde, and that Chantry Mother who got mad when he said he wanted to go home.

“You’re still not being fair, but I guess it counts.  Spiders do get pretty gross.  Your turn.”

“What’s the craziest thing you’d do for me?”

She snuck the last piece of cheese, popped it in her mouth.  “Craziest?”  Her eyes crossed.  “I’d…I’d…I’d attack Weisshaupt Fortress for you!”  They both cracked into giant laughs at the thought of her, shorter than most twelve-year-olds, assaulting a fortress that had held up against a Blight.  And full of battle-tested Wardens.

“Last one.  What’s the sweetest thing you’d do for me?”  The bottle was almost gone.  She looked at it and shrugged, handing it to him.  The candles had dimmed, and moonlight shone through the window.

His voice got quiet, and the words came out clearly.  His heart spilled out, the thing he’d been afraid to say, afraid she’d run.  “I’d marry you.”  Her eyes widened.  “What’s the sweetest thing you’d do for me?”

He could watch her tremble, the light reflecting off her eyes.  “I’d say yes.”

It was as foolish as everything else they’d been saying – they still needed to face the Landsmeet, to take on the Blight and somehow defeat the Archdemon, but…but they’d said the words.   She had.  At least, he thought that’s what he heard.  “You said yes?”

“I said I’d say yes.  You haven’t asked – and I know it’s just the wine, just that we managed one good thing in all this.  We’re still both Wardens, there’s still so much to deal with first.”  Her voice choked.  “And I’m still a mage.”

“I don’t care you’re a mage!  You’re lovely, and you laugh at my jokes, and…”   _ And she thought he was wonderful, and her eyes would shine when they’d manage the impossible and survive another day, or when he’d find her flowers, or just when he’d come whistling past Oghren’s snoring, sodden wreck. _

“Your uncle cares.”

Alistair shuddered.  “My uncle wants me to be king.”  His blood chilled at the very thought and his head filled with cobwebs. King,  _ him? _  He knew better.  “Never.  Never, never, neverneverno.”

“Why not?  You’d make a good king – you care about people and doing what’s right.”  Her voice was starting to slur from more than the wine.

_ Because I couldn’t marry you.  _  “You’ve met me, right?  I’d make a terrible King.  I’d eat all the cheese and get fat, I’d insult the nobles and probably kick someone’s cat.  And it would be boring, and numbers, and never doing anything fun.”

A yawning sigh.  “Maybe you’re right…we’ll talk with him tomorrow?”

He gave up trying to get either of them under the covers, and just pulled on the side until it covered them both, wrapped them safe and warm together for the night.  “Tomorrow, my Rose.”


	5. An Older Song Still Sings

He should sleep.  He knew he should, but he didn’t want  _ that _ in his dreams.  Maybe he’d get lucky and dream of the Archdemon.  “You have to love her, Alistair, to be willing to…urgh.”  He loved her. Of course he loved her – but sometimes couldn’t understand the woman who had forged their way to this point.  The tiny woman who lit up when he found flowers for her, who would sing to them, her eyes shining, who fit so well against his side, was entirely different than the cold and focused mage who had crowned Behlen in Orzammar.  But there was also the friend to Morrigan as they discussed theory or new spells, the one he’d never comprehended…and now, the one who was willing to ask him to do this to save their lives. Desperate, though she tried to hide it.  And utterly baffled why it bothered him so.

_ “Alistair, it’s just physical, for the magic to work.  It won’t take long – surely that’s worth our lives.” _

_ He paced, ignoring her pleading eyes, the white lines of tension on her face as he protested more than she’d expected.  “It’s not ‘just’ anything, Liss.  It’s…I’ve never cared enough about any other woman to want that.  Don’t you understand? You’re asking me to betray you, us, for what?” _

_ Her eyes glittered tears, and he felt an aching emptiness inside.  She hadn’t cried more than a handful of times. After the Circle, as she looked back at the Tower that had been home to her.  At some unnamed field, over the body of a pair of sibling refugees, barely old enough to walk, before lighting the fires herself for their pyre.  Her nightmares after the Deep Roads and the broodmother, as she shook in horror and fear. When he’d given her the rose, when they’d…but those were different tears. _

_ A whisper.  “For our lives, Alistair.  For a future. Surely that matters more?” _

Void take everything, it did.  Even to do… _ that. _  His stomach churned, threatening to reject the earlier dinner – but anything was better than the emptiness without her tucked against his chest.  She mattered that much, so he agreed.  It didn’t stop the hot rage, the disgust...his cheeks flushed.   _ To be used like that, to be nothing but a means to an end.  This is what she’d feared, at Kinloch.   _ She still did it, though – no, let that witch do it to both of them _. _

A knock, and the door slipped open.  “I…I brought a washbasin.” She’d taken the time to wash the lampblack out of her hair – it was flaming red again, as it had been when he’d met her.  Sunset hair, geraniums and laughter as he’d tried to find one that matched exactly, before they’d crossed Lake Calenhad. He’d found tulips that were close, somewhere a week west of Denerim earlier this spring, filled their tent with them that night, even though her hair was darkened to hide them from Loghain’s men.  The memories didn’t help.

He glared.  “Why did you lie to me?”

She stared up at him, hazel eyes wide.  “What?”

“A child.   _ That’s  _ what the witch needed.  What you didn’t bother to mention.”  She flinched, but this time, he wanted the words to hurt.  Hated wanting that, but needed her to feel what he did.  His child. He’d loved children, but hadn’t minded not having them.  His terror of screwing up their lives the way his ‘parents’ had was greater than desire to create a family of his own.  Now that he was to be a father – he wanted that with  _ her,  _ not the cursed swamp witch.  To be a father, not…not… “Why would you use me like that?”

Alissa’s eyes shifted like a frightened rabbit.  “I didn’t lie. I just…I didn’t know how you’d react.  Morrigan said this was the only way – and that it couldn’t be Riordan, because the Taint had damaged him too much.  I didn’t want to hurt you more than I had to. Morrigan promised she’d take care of the child, raise it, keep it safe…”

“Don’t say her name to me.  I was nothing but a means to an end to her, something to use.  She is  _ nothing _ to me.”  Rage, anger, the need to strike back and get some control again.  Even the witch hadn’t said anything until after, when he’d asked her why as he fumbled back into his clothes.

Her face went white at his savage tone.

“I don’t want to see her again, to talk about this ever.”  He tried to ignore his own tears. “You say it was necessary and I’ve trusted you this far.”

“Alistair…love…”

“No.  Just…no.  I need to sleep.”  A bitter grin, a bitter joke.  “We should be well-rested when the Darkspawn come, right?  Wouldn’t want to fall asleep at the party.”

She set the washbasin down, next to the door, so quietly it didn’t even click against the stones.  “I wouldn’t have asked you if I couldn’t bear the thought of living without you.”  No matter what Morrigan said, no matter her curiosity.  Another, perhaps.  But not Alistair.  She knew it would matter, just...not this much.

She turned to face the door, but paused when she heard a choking.  It was him.  “I wouldn’t have agreed if I couldn’t, either.”

She almost turned back, almost ran to his arms, he was sure of it.  He saw her profile, saw the uncertainty as he traced the lines of her cheeks and nose in the candlelight.  Saw it glitter off a tear as she turned away again, closed the door softly behind her.  If he’d moved, given any sign – but he didn’t.

Maybe it was better this way.  He stripped again, and scrubbed the smell of  _ her, _ the feel of  _ her, _ off his body.  Scrubbed himself red.  A flash of sunset hair in his mind… “Alistair, how do you manage to get things this mucked up?”

**

Morrigan came in to see the mage just sitting on her bed, wrapped up in a ball, her arms over her head.  She rolled her eyes – at Alistair, not the friend that she cared about enough to do as her mother had demanded.  But this ‘friendship’ mattered, somehow.  She couldn’t see Alissa risk her soul unnecessarily, and…couldn’t see her in this pain.  Morrigan pulled out a handful of herbs and dropped them into the kettle by the fire.  They let off a wild, astringent scent that freshened the stone-choked room.

When Alissa still refused to move, Morrigan padded on silent feet, finding a cup for the tea, running her finger along the fresh-cut wildflowers on the mantle.  She sat down behind the smaller mage: close enough to be felt, far enough to give her space.  From what she’d said of the Circle, no one respected space there.

Finally, the tension faded, ever so slightly and a whisper came out.  “Why?”

“Because he’s an idiot.”  Despite her words and matter-of-fact tone, there was still a gentleness in her voice.

_ That  _ got the reaction Morrigan had expected, as Alissa pulled her arm back to glare at her.  “He is not an idiot.”

“Then he is behaving as one.”  She blew across the cup, cooling it slightly, and took a sip.

“He is not!  Why did you tell him about the pregnancy?”

“It did not occur to do otherwise when he asked.”  Oddly enough, the simple truth.  “I told you everything, when you asked, and assumed you had done the same.  You tell him everything else, I did not think you would fail to mention this.  And…he deserved to know, even if I had not thought such when we’d talked.”  Odder enough, that was also true.  She ignored that fact, as she ignored so much about the former Templar.

Alissa gave her a confused look.  “I didn’t want to hurt him more.  You saw him around the children at Redcliffe.  And, unless you teach me that ritual and there’s a handy Archdemon, it’s not…”  she sighed.  “And I can’t wish for that.”

“Even then, it would not work.  You, too, are Tainted.”

A long sigh.  “We still have that death sentence, even if Anora didn’t dare threaten us with anything else.”  Him, she meant.  “But he didn’t want me near him, couldn’t bear to look...why?”

“Drink this.”  Morrigan handed the cup over, watched Alissa take a deep, burning gulp.  “Your Alistair, sister, is an idiot.  In this case, a love-sick one.”  A brief look away, into the distance.  “And the only way to save that love was for him to love someone he hated, at least in his tiny mind.”  The words, bitter on her tongue.  Not how she would see it, but almost certainly as he did – and that was what he sister needed to understand.  “That…is not easy, especially for someone as irrationally gentle as he.”

“Will he come back?”  The real question, finally.

“If he did not?  Would this night have still been worth it to you?”

A long silence.  “To save his life, yes.”

Love-sick idiot did not just apply to Alistair.  Spirits save her from such madness – though this ‘friendship’ was almost as bad.  She searched for the words.  “He will come back, sister.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

Morrigan’s voice turned tart.  “Then he did not deserve you in the first place, and I would have been right.”  Finally, she reached out, stroked Alissa’s hair as one would a cat.  “But I think, this once, I would be wrong about him.  He will come back.  If he loved you enough to do this deed, he will not turn away forever.  Once I am gone and no longer a goad, he will come back.”  Love did make one mad.  That she loved this sister-in-heart enough to leave her, just so the moron would realize his mistake…oh, love was foolish indeed.

“Will you at least write?  Tell me how it…?”

“Of course, sister.  When I can, when it is safe.”


	6. Parting

She met them at the border – but wasn’t here to meet  _ them.   _ The stocky man in battered armor pulled her into a hug as soon as the dozen warriors and single mage started trekking east.

“Liss.  Oh, love…”  His voice was hardly more than a whisper.  “I could join them – join  _ you.”  _

The tiny woman looked up from the shelter of her hood…the very thing that hid her identity from the Orlesian Wardens now making their way to Vigil’s Keep, her hazel eyes wide.  “Alistair?  I…”

His hands tightened on her.  He’d been such a  _ fool  _ before he’d left – but somehow, she hadn’t held it against him, ran into his arms as soon as they opened.  The longer he’d spent in Orlais the more he realized.  The more he regretted.  “Rose, you saved our lives.  I can’t – if you hadn’t – oh, Rose, I don’t even want to think about it.”  His voice twisted even more than his face as it dropped into a tortured whisper.  “Just these months without you…” 

Her heart sang, but she looked away.  “It’s not that easy.”

“It  _ is!   _ I just…come back.  Another Orlesian Warden.  I’ll fake the accent, even pretend to enjoy their cooking.”

No.  She remembered the chilly way the Queen refused to mention his name or acknowledge there was more than one Warden who saved her country and her throne.  As much as she loved him, as much as she  _ wanted  _ him, having him alive was more important.  She’d already made that decision.  “Alistair.  There’s no way we can do this.  You’re not Orlesian, and the Orlesian Wardens know that.  We’ll have…we’ll have these stolen moments, whenever I can get to the border.”   _ We.   _ It was enough.  It was a sure sight more than she’d ever had in the Circle – the Circle.  She needed to stay, needed to keep them free of the Chantry, and then there was the Arling she’d been afraid to visit, and…

His voice hardened, the first time she heard it do that.  No, not the first time – he had when he’d killed Loghain, and again after that night, before the Archdemon.  “Fortunately, you’re wrong.  Just this once, Liss.  There’s a way.  You’re a hero, we both are.  She can’t act against the Order.  Not now.  Right?”

Alissa smiled up at him and he saw the shadows of her bright red hair.  “Maybe you’re right.  We’ve found a way through everything else.  There’s always an edge.  If it’s true about magic – maybe it’s true about people, too.  But still.  Not now.  I need to go to the Circle while the Wardens settle in, and then deal with them, and more – we don’t  _ know  _ enough.  Please?  Stay with them  a little longer.  It sounds like Warden-Commander Clarel is a good person.  Didn’t Duncan mention something about her once?”

He leaned over and kissed her deeply enough to make both their heads spin.  “I hate it when you’re right sometimes.  Fine.  Before it snows again, I’ll come to the Keep.  I can be sneaky.  Or at least, just another Warden.”

That should give her enough time to deal with her nightmares and everything else.  “I thought the Archdemon was supposed to be the hard part!”

He chuckled and sat – she curled on his lap like so many times at camp, over that year.  “Oh come on.  That was  _ easy.   _ What’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do since…well, since that easy part?”

“Get used to red hair again.”  He almost pushed her off his lap and she giggled.  “Seriously?  Fine.  Dealing with all the Banns and stuff.  They’re even worse than demons for twisting words.”  She curled up against him again, breathing in that mix of sweat and oil…and dog.  “Why didn’t Barkspawn come with?”

“He did.  He’s just being a good dog and giving us privacy.  Or he’s still a bit nervous about the time when…”

“I didn’t mean to!”  Alissa sat up again.  “Now you.  What’s the funnest thing you’ve gotten to do, since…?”  She wanted something light.

“In between hating myself for what I’d said and missing you…and  _ dreaming  _ about…” his voice dropped low enough for her to shiver.  “Funnest, though.  Um.  One of Clarel’s Constables is from the Marches, and thinks Orlesian cooking is as terrible as anything I’d ever made.  So we had a contest.  The Orlesian chef’s most splendiferous creations against what we could whip up.  We lost, but that’s only because you weren’t there to help.”

“Hey!  It was once!”

He chuckled.  “Three times.  And then we stopped letting you cook so the  _ assassin  _ could take over.  That’s how bad you were, Liss.”

“Zev’s more than just an assassin!”

“Uh-huh.”   _ Maker,  _ he’d missed this, even more than the rest in their tent.  Well, maybe not.  “Where is he, Liss?”

Her voice was small.  “Antiva.”

“Doing what?”

She glared up at him, but answered.  “Assassinating the Crows who…but he had a reason!  They started it!  He said it was clean-up, and then he’d come visit.  It’s not like he makes a  _ habit  _ out of it.”

Alistair just laughed.  “Oh, Liss.”  Then he heard Barkspawn.  “That’s my call, love, unless you changed your mind?”

The hopefulness in his voice almost broke her resolve.  But no.  “I’ll see you by first snow.  We can manage.”  She stood, and he followed.

“Don’t get in too much trouble, Liss.”

She batted wide eyes.  “Me?  I never get into trouble.  Things just…happen.”

He turned back before following the road back into the hills to see her standing there, still dwarfed by her staff…with the morning glories he’d brought twined through her hair, white and green.  A last long look, and they both turned to their duties.


End file.
